


The Very Best

by heartstrings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Phone Sex, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 09:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10274036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstrings/pseuds/heartstrings
Summary: Jonny goes into rut two days after he's injured. It's extremely inconvenient.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Story time: So I originally started this fic back in December after we found out Jonny was dealing with a back injury, but for a few reasons I lost interest somewhere in the middle and put it on the backburner. At one point I thought I might just drop it for good. However, there’s nothing quite like needing to work on one fic to get you interested in writing on an old fic again, am I right? ;) Thanks to everyone who was supportive and also to my girl toewsyourheart & my beta boodreaus for looking this over!

Jonny goes into rut two days after he's injured. It's extremely inconvenient.

Rut isn't like heat exactly. There are similarities, of course: that intense need to mate, to be tied, to be as close as possible, fucking each other again and again; that's the same. But alphas have always had it easier than omegas. Patrick's not bitter; that's just the truth. 

A rut is shorter and quicker than a heat cycle, for one. For two, alphas can usually time them with their omega’s heats so they don't have to take suppressants, and, well, for three, they don't instantly turn into automatic slick machines. Which, mechanically-speaking, is a useful and practical physical function, but is also, at times, annoying as fuck.

Still, Patrick feels for Jonny, because he’s grown up used to the cumbersome and unwieldy obstacles that come with being an omega. Like going into heat without his mate nearby.

Jonny has not.

It’s no one’s fault, really. Just bad timing. 

He tweaks his back the game before the team is about to head out for a weeklong road trip. It seems like a blessing at first, that Jonny can go to their home afterwards and rest for the week instead of having to travel uncomfortably on a plane. Only, a day into the trip Patrick gets some vague texts after he’s awoken from his pregame nap.

_Call me when you wake up._

_I’m not feeling so hot._

_Fuck._

_FUCK._

_It’s started…_

_I might die._

Patrick calls him, laughing hard enough he's coughing when Jonny answers with a harried hello.

“You're not gonna die, babe.”

“I might! Or my dick might die from the nonstop jerking it I’ve had to do,” he huffs.

“Did you take a suppressant?” Patrick asks, even though he knows by this point it's too little, too late. It won't even be enough to take the edge off now.

“Yes,” Jonny says, voice strained.

“I'm sorry I'm not there. You know I want to be. That I would if I could.”

“How do you do this?” Jonny breathes. He sounds miserable and pained and Patrick aches for him. He knows that gut-wrenching longing well, the way it can sweep you under, feel almost suffocating until you’re with your mate again.

Jonny’s uncomfortable now, but he’s still himself, not mindless with it the way Patrick is from the beginning until the end and all the minutes in between. 

Fucking alphas. Always have it easier.

“Peeks,” Jonny whines, something rustling in the background.

“Jonathan,” he says, tender, comforting. 

“Come home,” Jonny pleads.

Patrick snorts. “It’s been like five minutes, Jon. You can do this. I’ll be back as soon as I can. You know that. Then you can have me all you want.”

“Want you now,” he says, pissy.

Patrick can picture the stubborn, bratty frown etched across his face. Shit, he loves this asshole so much.

*

The next few days are much of the same. Patrick doesn’t have a ton of free time on the road in between traveling, games, practice, team meetings, workouts, team dinners, and trying to get in some rest. He spends the time he’d usually be playing video games with the boys or going over game tape talking with Jonny on the phone.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Jonny says, panting.

He’s fucking his fist as they speak, Patrick can hear the slap drag of skin as they try to talk of mundane things like the Flames power play and Jonny’s lunch salad.

“I think you’ll be fine.” Patrick can’t help but chuckle, just a quiet little snicker that Jonny doesn’t even hear. 

“I heard that,” Jonny groans. He’s got that sharpness to his voice that means he’s both turned on and angry about it. Patrick’s pretty familiar with that tone, having listened to it since they were both teenagers and still desperate for one another.

“If I can do this at least once a year, you can make it through a couple days.”

“Can I? CAN I?” Jonny growls. 

Patrick snorts. “Yes.”

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying my misery right now. Laugh it up. When my dick falls off tomorrow you won’t find it so funny.”

“Your dick’s not going anywhere, drama queen. Pull out the toy box from the closet, grab the good lube and one of the sleeves, the vibrating one, and get back in bed,” Patrick says, half amused and half exasperated by Jonny’s theatrics.

He needs to be patient, he knows, and he’s a little ashamed of himself for not being more so. This is officially Jonny’s first rut where he’s had to spend even some of it alone. Every alpha is different, but most, like Jonny, have their ruts triggered by their mate’s heat. There are exceptions of course, but for mated pairs, especially, it’s the norm. The few times Jonny’s gone off before Patrick, has been when they were already in the middle of a marathon sex session, during the summer or a long weekend. So Patrick was there, always, to help Jonny through.

Patrick hasn’t been so lucky.

It was particularly painful in the beginning, when Patrick was twenty and his body and heart were telling him that Jonny was _alpha_ , Jonny was _mate_ , but his mind needed time to catch up. He spent three heats in a row drenched in sweat, slick, and come, fighting the urge to go to Jonny, to ask for help, to let himself submit. He was stubborn, more strong willed than an omega should be, defiant. It’s inevitably what drew him and Jonny together in the end, that they challenged each other in a way no one else could even dream of competing with. When they both finally stopped fighting long enough to realize there was no better match, they knew they’d found their equal. 

The fault here doesn’t lie on Jonny’s shoulders, he can no better predict or control his biology than any other alpha, or Patrick, or a random beta. So Patrick can be bitter about the past and his own self-sacrificing struggles, or he can help his boyfriend that’s in need.

“Did you find the stuff?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jonny says on a stuttered breath. 

“Do you have water? Have you been hydrating regularly?” 

If Jonny’s losing more fluids than he’s intaking then they have a bigger problem on their hands.

“I have. I swear. I’m just a little tired,” Jonny says. “I don’t know how you do it, Kaner. It feels like if I can’t have you soon I might lose my mind, or spontaneously combust or some shit. I don’t know. When are you coming home?”

“Saturday evening. We have the afternoon game and then the flight and I’ll be there. Just two more days,” Patrick says, assuring.

“Two more days,” Jonny echoes.

“Yes.”

Jonny sighs. “Baby?”

“I’m here,” Patrick whispers, pressing the phone harder to his ear. “What can I do?”

“Talk to me”

It occurs to Patrick that he could probably babble about anything right now, his day, or what’s on TV, or the dumb joke he overheard Crow telling Duncs, but maybe since he’s here, and he’s got time, there’s a better way to help Jonny through his orgasm instead. In the past just hearing Jonny’s voice was enough to calm him at times, and having Jonny’s words, heated, sexy, and gently guiding, eased the ache. He can give that to Jonny in return. He wants to.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Only stopped for a second, but yeah,” Jonny says, amused and low. And at least he sounds calmer now, for the moment, steadier.

“Can you close your eyes for me? Lean back into the pillows, relax.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to imagine I’m there with you now. I’m naked, kneeling in the middle of our bed and I’m waiting for you to tell me what to do. What do you want me to do?”

“I, um. I…”

Patrick chuckles. A little turned on by how fast he can make Jonny flustered. “I know you can do better than that, Jonathan.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “I'm in pain over here.”

“Well let me help you ease it, baby.”

The slippery, squelching sound of Jonny fucking the tight cavern of his hand, or maybe the toy, has Patrick imagining what he looks like, spread out on their bed, flushed head to and toe and straining for more.

“Miss you. Want you…” 

“Want me where?” Patrick asks, a little breathless and growing fat in his pants. He’s already sitting up in the hotel bed, fingers teasing at the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Bent over the end of the bed. Eyes on me,” Jonny says. There’s a hint of command in his voice, an alpha’s order. Patrick shivers all over from it, from the desire to arch his neck and let Jonny bite him, have him, move over him.

“My eyes are always on you, you know that,” Patrick murmurs, palm pushing at the bulge of his thickening cock, needing the relief.

“That's my line,” Jonny says.

“You gonna come any closer? I'm waiting for you and I'm already wet and open. You just gotta fit your cock to my hole and slip inside.”

“Oh god,” Jonny whimpers, a whine deep in his throat.

“You like that?”

“Yes. Like it when you fuck yourself back on my dick because you're impatient for more.”

God, it’s almost too much, hearing Jonny desperate for him and not being able to touch him. He’s so hard, already, just by the huskiness of Jonny’s voice, the way he knows Jonny’s got his mouth dropped open, his eyelids heavy, and his bicep bunching as he pumps his cock from tip to root. He’s probably cupping his balls too, rolling them in his other hand, so heavy and full. Patrick wants to lick him all over.

“I usually am,” Patrick says, giving up and shoving his pants down to touch his throbbing erection. He’s already got precome oozing from his slit, he watches as it rolls down the sensitive crown and onto his knuckle.

“Love it when you moan my name and clench up around me. You're so hot inside, so soft, perfect.”

“So you've got me where you want me. What now?”

There’s more movement on the other end of the line, heavy breathing. “Gonna kiss your neck as I fuck you deep, my knot already swelling. You moan for me. You know it gets me so hot when you're loud.” 

“Cause you're easy,” Patrick huffs a laugh, but it ends weakly. Jonny’s words are painting the most vivid image in his mind, his skin prickling all over. He feels addicted to it, drunk on it almost.

“For you, maybe.”

“For me, definitely,” Patrick says, trying to sound cocky, but falling just short by the catch in his throat.

“I bet you’re leaking right now, knowing how much I want you, knowing if you were here I’d be inside you, touching you all over, kissing your mark.”

“ _Fuck_ , Jonny,” Patrick shivers. His balls go tight at the thought of Jonny mouthing at his bond scar, the part of his body that will always bear the brand of their official mating. He shakes with it suddenly, restless and frenzied. Jonny’s right, Patrick’s dick is twitching in his grasp as he drips slick from his hole. He can’t wait, has to stuff two inside himself to curb the emptiness clawing at him so perfectly.

“You with me?” Jonny asks. He’s just as far gone as Patrick if the shocky, staggered rhythm of his breaths are anything to go by.

“Yeah, yeah I’m close,” 

“Tell me.”

“I’ve-I’ve got one hand on my dick, working the head real slow, and my...and my legs are spread, fingers up my ass, wishing it was you.”

“Patrick, baby, holy shit,” Jonny cries.

Patrick can do nothing but moan, gasping across the line and listening to Jonny pant as he rustles around on the bed.

“Jonny,” he says, feeling mindless himself now and so near the edge. “Jonny. _Jonny_.”

He just needs something else, just an extra little kick as he pumps his own fingers inside himself, wishing for more.

“Come for me, Patrick. Have to hear you lose it for me first. Come for me now.”

It’s not so much the order that sets Patrick off, although that’s part of it, mostly it’s the sweet, pleading way Jonny says it to him, thousands of miles apart and still able to reach down to the very core of him. He spills over his hand in long, white ropey strings, cursing and mewling endearments too embarrassing to be saying over the phone. Jonny takes it all in, grunting through his own orgasm and undoubtedly glistening with sweat like some greek god brought to life.

Fuck this being separated shit.

“Better?” Patrick asks when Jonny’s breathing has somewhat settled.

“For now,” Jonny acquiesces. 

“I’ll be home soon,” Patrick whispers, feeling suddenly desperately homesick and hollow without Jonny’s warmth to curl into.

“Soon,” Jonny says, like a promise, comforting them both.

*

It feels as if there’s a tiny fist inside his guts twisting him up over every remaining minute he’s away from Jonny for the next forty-eight hours. The phone sex was good, but not enough, not for him, and especially not for Jonny who’s gotten increasingly frenetic. Patrick’s tried to be a calming center, the steady voice he needs, but it’s just words and he’s always been better with touch. There are only so many things he can say in place of being able to soothe Jonny with his presence. And after the phone call even he began to feel shaky and uneven with the urge to mate, to be claimed.

He can feel it now, like a tangible weight hanging over him, pulling him from his car to the front door of their home. His hand jerky and adrenaline pumping as he slips the key in the lock, twists the knob, and walks inside.

Jonny’s waiting for him on the other side, standing just a few feet away. He might’ve heard Patrick at the door, or maybe he felt him too, like Patrick can feel Jonny right now, their hearts beating in time, blood rushing through their veins.

“Hi,” he says, dropping his shoulder bag at his feet.

“Hey,” Jonny says, deep, low. His eyes are already glassy and he’s flushed practically everywhere. It’s a miracle he’s got a pair of boxer briefs on, even as haphazardly pulled on as they are.

“Should you be out of bed?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. C’mere,” Jonny murmurs and wastes no time dragging Patrick to him and fitting their mouths together.

The kiss is deep and sweet, turning quickly into something hungrier, rougher, as Jonny presses Patrick back against the closed front door and starts hurriedly yanking on his clothes.

“Jonny. M’Jonny. Babe, slow down.”

Jonny growls and spins him around so he can scrape his teeth over the back of Patrick’s nape, possessive. “Can’t. Really, really, _really_ can’t.”

“Really?” Patrick teases.

“REALLY,” Jonny grunts, tugging so hard the seams on Patrick’s shirt starts to rip.

It aches a little, the way Jonny’s pushing against him, trying to rub his steel hard dick into the crease of Patrick’s ass. He knows Jonny’s suffering, that he’s out of his mind with need, with the biological drive to mate now now now.

Still, it doesn’t have to be painful, it doesn’t have to be hurtful rough.

Patrick finds his footing, turning in Jonny’s arms until their eyes have locked, until he can pull Jonny’s focus away from his body to his voice, his words.

“Jon”, he says, soft, sure. “Jonathan.”

Jonny blinks, dazed and heavy lidded, but when his eyes catch on Patrick’s they hold and Patrick knows he’s got him.

“Five minutes, okay? Just let me put my bag away, grab something quick out of the fridge and then I’m all yours. I promise.”

Jonny’s pupils are blown so wide his eyes look consumed in black. “Promise?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he says, solemn.

Jonny whines in the back of his throat as Patrick attempts to shift away.

It seems Patrick _may_ have possibly underestimated the situation. Just a little. As the man of his dreams, his future husband, is currently standing in the middle of the kitchen humping his thigh like a horny bear.

And the sad part is...it’s totally doing it for him.

Patrick gives in.

“Okay let's go to the bedroom,” he hums.

He's not even finished saying the word yet and Jonny's got him by the front of his shirt, dragging him forward. Patrick laughs, can't help himself at Jonny's little caveman act. He'd probably have Patrick up off the ground and over his shoulder by now if his back wasn't tweaking. And that's a sobering thought.

When they get to the bedroom Jonny turns, seeing Patrick’s troubled expression and pauses. He steps in close, nuzzles his face to the side of Patrick's in question, in comfort. He's more a giant puppy than a giant beast, trying to take care of Patrick even now in his own moment of need. Patrick let's his worry about Jonny's injury dissolve for the moment so he can give his mate his full attention.

He leans up to capture Jonny's mouth in a desperate, devouring kiss, licking at his lips and sucking on his tongue until Jonny shivers.

This close Patrick can smell every inch of Jonny, the thick scent of his arousal flowing off of him in waves. It’s spicy like chili peppers with just an edge of sweetness. He told Patrick once that Patrick’s all tangy lemon and fresh limes, and that he can never ever get enough. _Same_ , Patrick thinks idiotically, as he breaks away to taste Jonny’s heat damp skin, a gorgeous burnished scarlet beneath his tongue. He’s so fucking hot Patrick’s entire being shakes just looking at him.

Somehow, someway they make it to the bed, fully naked now, with only Patrick’s dress shirt and boxers the worse for wear. Slick is running down his inner thigh before he even manages to spread his legs and straddle Jonny’s lap. He’s wet enough to soak their expensive king sized mattress probably, but Jonny catches most of it on his fingers before it drips lower, stuffing it back inside Patrick’s greedy hole along with three of his fingers. He goes two knuckles deep, enough to have Patrick crying out and blinking back tears.

It’s not that he can’t take that and much more, Jonny’s dick is big, thick enough it has Patrick gaping after the knot goes down and Jonny pulls all the way out. It’s not even that quick slice of pain, because he loves the sharpness almost as much as the tenderness at times. No, it’s the unexpectedness of it, the way Jonny’s usually so very careful with him even when Patrick’s rolling his eyes and assuring him he can take more. He’s unraveling underneath Patrick by the second, trying to grasp at those last slivers of control even as he humps his cock in the air, unable to keep still.

Patrick circles his wrist and pulls his hand free, precome oozing from the tip of his own dick as Jonny brush his prostate as his fingers slide out.

He inches up Jonny’s body so his ass is hovering right where it needs to be and takes a moment to gentle Jonny back down to the sheets. There’s no sense in rushing this if it’s only going to wrench something in Jonny’s back and make his injury worse. They have time. They have three days off before the next home game and Patrick will take every damn second of this to do it right if he has to.

“Jonny, baby. Jonathan, look at me. I need you to focus.” 

“ _I need you_.” Jonny breathes, gripping Patrick’s ass hard enough to bruise, even with slippery hands.

The cherry red head of Jonny's dick is plump and glossy wet. If there was time Patrick would lay Jonny out, fit himself between Jonny's legs and suck on him like a treat, make it sloppy as fuck, until Jonny was halfway down his throat and hard enough to knot.

He loves those moments, the times when he can turn Jonny into a quivering, howling mess. Jonny certainly does it enough to him it's good to know he can return the favor, that Jonny trusts him to have that control. Alphas are tricky creatures, driven to protect and be perfect leaders, they’re competitive and loyal, but also reckless with themselves, bullheaded and at times dominating to the point of frustration. Jonny is all of those things, but he’s also more than that, more than just the alpha stereotypes used to box him in, more than just an alpha even. He’s Patrick’s partner, his equal in all the ways that matter. He takes care of Patrick as much as Patrick takes care of him. They work because they share the power between them, giving and taking in balanced measures. Jonny’s never pushed more than Patrick’s willing to bend, never held on harder than Patrick holds onto him.

“You have me,” Patrick says. “You always do.”

Then he lifts up and slowly guides Jonny inside. They both moan at every inch that slides in just that much deeper until Patrick’s seated flush over Jonny’s hips, his balls brushing Patrick’s ass. When he begins to rock Jonny moves with him, like it’s unbearable for him not to be fully encased in Patrick’s heat, his tight warmth, close as ever. They’re hardly thrusting at all, either of them, more grinding into each other as Patrick leans down to suck the glistening sweat from the hollow of Jonny’s throat. 

He rakes his teeth over Jonny’s jaw, kisses a hickey over his adam’s apple, and another three across his clavicle, marking him up pretty.

“You feel so good,” Jonny rasps. His knot’s already starting to expand and it’s just been a few minutes, each drive of his cock into Patrick dragging deliciously inside him. He can’t help but keen and undulate with each thrust, pressing his face to Jonny’s shoulder, overwhelmed.

There’s fingertips reaching for his mating mark, just caressing underneath it where Jonny’s holding Patrick near. He can't reach it with his mouth so he touches it with his hand, brushes a calloused thumb tenderly over Patrick's mark, the shape of Jonny's teeth and the symbol of what they mean to each other. It's sensitive, unbelievably so, and the touch, although brief, is like tripping a circuit board connected to all of the most receptive parts of him. He comes immediately, sobbing as he shoots over Jonny's chest and abs, writhing. Patrick can feel Jonny completely for that one instant, his thoughts reflected back at Patrick through their bond. 

For some couples it never happens, and if it does it's rare, maybe a handful of times in a span of years. It's like this for them almost every time. Patrick can't explain it, but he's thankful for it, for the way he can see a glimpse of Jonny's soul and the way it beats _my love, my mate, my beautiful, my Patrick, mine_.

He almost whites out, it's so stunning. Jonny's knot is at it's full width now and it's rubbing continuously over Patrick's prostate, almost milking him. He's shuddering with every minute shift of it, of Jonny's body, his dick still spurting come as he leaks even more slick from behind.

“ _Peeksy. Fuuuuck_.” Jonny hisses, muscles straining and eyes rolling back in his as his orgasm hits, emptying himself like a flood into Patrick’s body. The feedback loop starts all over again, Patrick kissing his heart thoughts into the apples of Jonny’s cheeks, the bridge of his brow, the corner of his mouth. 

After it’s over they breathe together, quietly, for several hushed moments.

“Was it okay?” Jonny asks once he’s regained his breath. He’s still coming back to himself in small increments, but his eyes seem clearer now, his focus more even.

“Okay?” Patrick laughs, nuzzling at Jonny’s temple. “Think you might be underestimating yourself there, pal.” 

Patrick can already picture the ways Jonny will feel the need to make this up to him later. Maybe a hot bath, maybe he eats Patrick out on the couch, maybe he orders in Patrick's favorite meal, the possibilities are endless, to be honest. He has nothing to apologize for, nothing at all. He's taken care of Patrick at his very worst and Patrick would do the same for him, anytime, anywhere, always, and without regret.

Jonny seems to find this all less amusing, cupping Patrick’s face in both his hands and drawing it away so they can make eye contact. “Did I hurt you? I got lost there for a minute.”

“I know, but I didn’t let you go far. I never would,” Patrick says, fitting one of his own hands over Jonny’s. Their thumbs intertwine.

“Kaner.”

“You just want me to pump your tires. Admit it.”

“Patrick,” he says, stern and concerned.

“I’m good. Better than, even. Great! And you're a good alpha, Jon. You're my alpha. So clearly that means you're the best. I don't mate with no scrubs, you know.”

Jonny’s smile melts like warm butter into something ardent and too fond it almost hurts. Patrick expects him to make a move, kiss him, or pinch his ass, but he continues to stare goofily.

“What? What are you looking at?”

“You. You're so gorgeous. We're gonna make beautiful babies one day. The best babies.”

“God, you're such a sap after you knot,” he huffs.

But. Yes. 

There’s something terrifying and yet fundamentally, intrinsically satisfying, thinking about carrying Jonny’s child, their child, the one they’ll someday make together. It doesn't hurt to think about all the fun they’ll have in the process of making those babies either, the time they’ll spend tied together, just like they are now. It lights Patrick up inside.

“I know, I'm the _worst_ ,” Jonny smirks.

“Disgusting,” Patrick says, fighting off a giggle. 

“Shameful,” Jonny sighs.

“We will, though.”

“What?” Jonny asks.

“Have the best family.”

“Well, obviously.”

Patrick laughs, settles in place, and fits his mouth to Jonny’s. “You know it. Now shut up and makeout with me.”


End file.
